Giant Steps Read online

  When Bernie heard a crackling noise, she held her breath. Something was moving through the undergrowth in her direction. The sound came closer. She expected to see the yellow eyes of a wild animal glowing in the darkness. She began to whimper softly. Suddenly Bernie felt a hand on her shoulder; another hand clamped firmly over her mouth.

  “Don’t scream,” a voice said in a breathy whisper that made her inhale sharply.

  She tried to cry out, but the rough skin of the hand was still pressed tightly over her mouth. She managed to force her lips apart enough to bite the fingers. She heard a gasp of pain as the hand released.

  “Why did you bite me?” It was Jack.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I followed you so that you wouldn’t be afraid in the dark.”

  “Is that so? Well, you managed to scare me nearly to death sneaking up on me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said as he picked up her flashlight.

  Bernie would not have admitted for the world how relieved she was to have him here. Instead, she snapped, “The dare was for me to walk around the pond by myself and that is what I fully intend to do. I’ll show them that I am as brave as any boy.”

  For the first time she could remember, Jack seemed irritated with her. “Look, you don’t have to prove anything to me. I don’t care if you wish you were a boy instead of a girl.”

  “Being a boy is the last thing in the world that I would wish to be,” Bernie insisted. “What I really wish is that people would quit telling me that I can’t do things just because I happen to be a girl. Now, let me get on with it.”

  He turned the flashlight on her.

  “You are not going to get on with anything without some help. Now be still while I get your coat untangled from these brambles so you can stand up.”

  “Be careful that you don’t tear my coat anymore than it already is,” she ordered. She immediately felt ashamed by her tone of voice. She felt a sharp rock pressing painfully into one of her knees. She groaned as she tried to shift her weight without tearing the coat.

  Jack asked, “Are you okay?”

  The rock and the cold ground made her miserable. She tried to move her knees, but could not.

  “Lean against me,” Jack said.

  She put one arm on his back and leaned heavily on it. He gave a muffled yelp. She remembered last summer when she wondered why Jack never took off his shirt to go swimming. From what Nick had told her, she imagined that Jack’s father might whip his son as hard as he whipped his horses.

  “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” she said, then added lamely, “I guess my elbows are sharp.”

  It seemed to take forever until Jack worked the coat free. He helped her get to her feet. She had been kneeling so long that her legs were shaking. She felt his strong arms steadying her until she got her balance once more.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice not sounding very grateful even in her own ears.

  He leaned closer and said, “I’m glad I could help.”

  She was too startled to say anything and moved quickly away from him. She was very much aware that he trailed closely behind her as she finally completed circling the pond.

  When they reached the barn, he said, “Nobody needs to know I was out here.”

  “I’m glad you rescued me,” she said in a meek voice. It didn’t sound like her voice at all.

  Bernie breathed a sigh of relief when she reached the clearing and found the path that led up to the house. She stayed outside on the porch for a few minutes while she tried to think what she would say when she went inside. Bernie paused in the front hallway to take off her coat. She was relieved to see that the tear wasn’t as serious as she imagined. Probably Edna Schmidt could mend it so Papa would never have to know about it.

  Bernie brushed herself off and smoothed her hair. Then she tightened her lips into a determined line. If anyone made any remarks, she would face them down. She had walked around the pond. She had not asked Jack to follow her. But when she went inside, no one said a word. They were all too busy eating freshly popped corn from large bowls. She was surprised to see that Jack had somehow managed to sneak in the back door. He was sitting in the parlor with the others, acting as though he had been there the entire time.

  Ben looked up and said to Bernie, “Well, you certainly took long enough.” He glanced at Jack and smiled. Jack looked away. To her relief neither Ben nor Nick said anything else.

  Back home that night, Bernie got wearily into bed. What a strange day it had been. She wished she hadn’t been so unpleasant to Jack when he followed her. She had to admit that she could not have gotten her coat unsnagged from the thorns without Jack’s help. She remembered the way he had cried out when she leaned on his back. His arms had been so strong when he lifted her up from the ground and steadied her. Alice had been right when she said Jack was thoughtful and kind. Before turning out the light, she went to her desk and opened the bottom drawer and looked at the blue bead, still on the loop of fishing line, that she kept there. She breathed a prayer of thanks that Jack had not heard Papa’s thoughtless words about Aunt Lolly taking in strays.

  As she drifted off to sleep she forced herself to think of something else. Lizzie had said she was going to enter the contest. Bernie wished she hadn’t been so hasty when she had refused Alice’s help with her essay. It would be hard, but now she was on her own and more determined than ever to win that contest.

  7

  November 1916

  Putting the Puzzle Together

  Bernie sat at the desk in her upstairs bedroom and stared moodily out the window. The last few remaining dried leaves, which finally fell away from the trees, swirled about in circles on this windy Sunday afternoon in November. They seemed as aimless as her thoughts.

  She was still smarting over the fact that Papa had dismissed her from the table for dallying over the midday meal.

  “If you are not going to eat, then you can go to the kitchen and start washing the pots and pans. When everything is cleaned up, I want you to go to your room. I don’t know what is the matter with you today,” he had said. “You did not pay any attention during church. Your mind was elsewhere.”

  He was certainly correct. That morning, she had automatically taken her place in the pew, which her family occupied every Sunday. Ben went first, then Mother. Bernie came next followed by Papa with Nick on the outside aisle. Her parents had developed this arrangement from past experience. Keeping the boys apart was one sure way to keep them from creating a disturbance during the service.

  Bernie was only vaguely aware of the organ playing and had to be reminded by Papa to open her hymnal to the correct page. During the rest of the service, she had restlessly plucked at a loose thread that held a button on her coat. Several times Mother had gently reached over and put her gloved hand on top of Bernie’s to warn her to stop fidgeting.

  Once Mother had leaned over to whisper in Bernie’s ear. “Stop that before the button falls off and you lose it.”

  Papa had been so displeased by all of this that he covered his mouth and cleared his throat. There was no mistaking his intent. She could hear Nick snickering and that set up a chain reaction in which Papa pursed his lips in displeasure while Mother looked sternly at Ben to caution him not to join in. After church Papa hurried outside, barely pausing at the door long enough to shake the preacher’s hand and tell him what a fine sermon it was. He herded them all to the car and indicated that they were to get in immediately. No one dared speak on the way home.

  After the pots and pans were washed, dried, and put away following the noon meal, Bernie started to go up to her room. Papa came to the foot of the stairs and said, “Just so this day won’t be a complete waste, I want you to memorize this morning’s scripture lesson. You should be prepared to recite it for me before you sit down at the supper table this evening.”

 
“Yes, sir,” Bernie said, but at the top of the landing, she’d had to go back downstairs to ask Papa to remind her what book, chapter, and verses that would be.

  Bernie may have written her essay at a desk similar to the one in this photograph of a room in a house in Bloomington, Indiana, ca. 1911–15. (Anton T. Boisen, Interior Scene, ca. 1911–1915, Wylie House Museum Image Collection, 2005.003.1462, Indiana University Collections, Bloomington, Indiana)

  Back upstairs, she dutifully opened her Bible to Proverbs 31:8–9. She stared at the words but could not concentrate on them anymore than she had been able to pay attention in church this morning. She soon drifted as she recalled the jumble of things that needed sorting out in her own mind. Most of this muddle revolved around what had happened at Aunt Lolly’s birthday party. She recalled how annoyed she had been when she saw that Jack had been invited. She reminded herself that if he had not been invited, he could not have rescued her when she fell and became tangled in the thorny brambles on the far side of the pond. She supposed she would have had to call out for help. That would have given her brothers more reason to laugh at her and tease her unmercifully. She would never have heard the end of it.

  She remembered Papa’s unkind words about Aunt Lolly taking in every stray that came along. Hearing Papa’s comparison of Jack to a stray animal made her think of her own criticisms of Jack’s sister at the Lafayette Franchise League meeting. She understood now how awful her words must have sounded to Alice. Bernie wondered if she would ever get over that humiliation. She got up and went into the other room to splash her face with cold water. She wished she could stop thinking about it. Why did life have to be so complicated?

  Finally, she remembered how upset she had been when she learned that Lizzie was going to enter the essay contest. Bernie was determined not to let Lizzie get the better of her on that score. She sat back down at her desk and took a piece of paper from the top drawer. She wrote across the top of the page: “Why the world would be a better place if women got the vote.”

  What could she say to convince people that she really believed those words? She certainly respected all sorts of historical giants who had led the way in trying to change some bad things happening in the world. She admired Isabel Grandison, the English woman who had come to speak at the league meeting. But Bernie had tried writing about women like this in her first essay. Alice had said that she was just copying what someone else had said. It had no feeling; it wasn’t personal. So, how could Bernie make people understand that she really did care? Did she know anyone who was making the world a better place?

  She turned back to the scripture she was supposed to memorize and read it again, aloud: “Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all who are appointed to destruction. Open thy mouth, judge righteously, and plead the cause of the poor and needy.”

  Bernie stared at the words on the page. What did that mean? Alice had told her to ask questions, and to have a conversation with the author when she read. Bernie wondered if it was acceptable to have a conversation with the Bible? It was so hard to understand sometimes. How else was she going to know what it meant, though, if she didn’t ask questions? Bernie wished that she had listened to the sermon this morning. Maybe the preacher had explained what it meant. She wished she had been listening.

  She asked herself who were “the dumb”? Sheppie was a dumb animal, except for all his noisy barking. Was she supposed to speak for him? She remembered Papa’s words about Aunt Lolly taking in any stray that came along. In Aunt Lolly’s case, it meant far more than dogs or cats. Aunt Lolly cared about people like Jack and his sister. She had been thoughtful enough to invite Emily and her children to a family party.

  It pained her to admit that even her own brothers cared about Jack. They saw his good qualities and didn’t let unimportant things such as tatty clothing worry them. Why couldn’t she do that? Why couldn’t she care about people that way?

  Her own mother cared about people. Bernie remembered something that happened one day last summer when Edna Schmidt came over to help Mother with the laundry. Edna’s little granddaughter, who often came with her, clung to her grandmother’s skirts.

  Mother held the back door open for them. “Hello, Angelina. I’m baking cookies today.” The little girl had brightened at those words and skipped happily into the kitchen.

  “Come in, Edna. How are you?” her mother had said brightly.

  Edna mumbled a hasty “Hello, Mrs. Epperson.” But, the older woman had seemed reluctant to talk. She ducked her head and quickly picked up the wicker laundry basket that sat near the door and moved toward the washing machine.

  At the time, Bernie thought it was strange that on such a hot day, Edna wore a bulky sweater and had a large scarf tied about her head. As she bent over the basket, the scarf slipped down to her shoulders. Edna quickly grabbed at it and tried to pull it back in place. Before she managed to do so, Bernie saw that Edna had a black eye and an ugly purple bruise on her cheek.

  “Edna, what happened to you?” Bernie asked the woman.

  “It’s nothing,” Edna said and turned away.

  “But your eye is all puffy and you have a terrible bruise,” Bernie persisted.

  Angelina said, “Grandmamma told me to say that she fell down.”

  “How in the world could anyone get a black eye like that by falling down?”

  Mother had interrupted, saying more loudly than she generally would, “Bernie, take Angelina upstairs. There are some nice dresses that you have outgrown. I laid them out on my bed. She can try them on to see if they fit. If she likes them, she can have them. I simply cannot stand to see perfectly good clothing wasted. Edna and I have a lot of work to do. We haven’t got time to stand here chattering.”

  Now Bernie remembered the time Mr. Granger had given her a ride in his wagon—the day she had broken her arm falling out of the hayloft. He had talked about how he had seen old Mr. Schmidt knock down and beat his wife. Bernie wondered if the reason Edna wore the heavy sweater on such a hot day was to cover up other ugly bruises. She also recalled that Mr. Granger had said something about how Mr. Schmidt never worked but took the money his wife earned and spent it in the saloon.

  Bernie thought about how she had seen her mother give clothing, not only to Angelina, but also to Edna. Furthermore, Mother usually cooked far too much food on the days Edna came to help. At lunchtime little Angelina sat at the kitchen table and gobbled every bite on her plate and even wiped her plate clean with a slice of bread. Mother always sent any leftovers home with Edna. Funny how Bernie had never paid much attention to this before. Now she understood Mother’s actions.

  The cartoon’s caption poses the question of whether women should be allowed to vote. The answer is “No. They might disturb the existing order of things.” The order of things, as portrayed by the cartoon, was corrupt politicians paying male voters to vote certain ways while women were at home, working to keep house and attend children, or out working in factories alongside children. (Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, LC-DIG-ppmsca-26363)

  As Bernie repeated the Bible verses, trying to memorize them, they began to make more and more sense. It was as though she were fitting pieces of a jigsaw puzzle together to form the picture. She realized that being “dumb” didn’t always mean that a person literally could not form words, it could also mean that for some reason a person could not speak for herself.

  Could that be what the scripture meant? Did these words say that we should open our mouths to speak for the poor and the needy, who dare not speak for justice? Isabel Grandison said the English women were trying to gain justice. All they wanted was to be treated fairly, to be heard. Somebody had to speak for all the people who could not make their voices heard.

  This must be what Alice had been trying to get across to Bernie about caring. Bernie asked herself who she cared about. Of course she cared about her own family. But who else did she reall
y care about?

  Did she care about Edna and little Angelina? Did she care about Jack’s sister? She recalled how Jack had cried out in pain when she leaned on his back the other night. She had suspected his back was tender from a whipping and she had tried to cover over any embarrassment by apologizing for her sharp elbows. She realized that Jack was a caring person, too. Even though he was treated badly by his father, he was kind to others.

  Bernie picked up a pencil and began to write. The words poured out of her so fast that her fingers could hardly keep up with them:

  My father says that women should not have the vote. In fact, he says that women do not need or even want to vote. My father is a fine and honest man. He works hard and takes good care of his family. He thinks that good men should take care of women so that they won’t have to get involved with politics. He believes that such things are only for men. He says that women are too pure to be part of politics. I know my father means well, but I don’t think he understands.

  The problem is that not all men are good men. Many of us know men who beat their wives and children. We may even know men who spend their money—money their wives earn—in saloons rather than using it to buy food for their families.

  Women with husbands such as these have no one to speak for them. Women with no husbands have no one to speak for them either.

  But, even women who have good husbands would like to be able to express their opinions in the voting booth. Why should men, whether they be good or bad, have the right to vote just because they are men? Why should men, good or bad, deny that basic right to women, just because they are women?

  The words almost seemed to be writing themselves. It was exciting to write out her feelings this way. She continued writing until several pages were filled. The last words she put on paper were: